Bits 'n' pieces
by Alaricadein
Summary: Short bits and single scenes most of which I have posted on the Caer-Azkaban group. May, but most likely will not, be expanded into something worth anything. Mostly put here for ease of access and to stave off the guilty feeling of not having done anything for the story I am supposedly 'working on'
1. Chapter 1

What if Regulus knew something? What if he never hid the locket at grimmauld place? What if, knowing he was going to die, he got revenge by telling Kreacher to send the locket somewhere that so steeped in darkness that Volde looked like a wailing child to them? Oh, also – Regulus in this is not a very nice person, and he never forgave his brother, seeing him as a traitor to the family to the end.

"We went into the cave, and took a small boat over deep water to a small island in the middle. There was a bowl with a potion in it. Dumbledore drank it, and it made him start weeping. In the end, there wasn't even a horcrux there, but a fake with a note to Voldemort saying that the original had been stolen, he would never get it again, and that he was cursed forever. It was signed R.A.B., and that's it, really."

Harry stopped talking, and Hermione was opening her mouth to ask a question when a soft, twisted chuckle came from the corner, a chuckle that turned into words, "Yes, Master took the locket, Master did. Master was very angry at Voldey-Voldey. So angry, so angry, he was. Even angrier than he was at the master who was a traitor to the family. I went there with Master, took him there, because Kreacher went there with the Dark Lord, oh yes Kreacher did. Hah. Dark Lord was filth, Master said."  
The three teenagers sitting in the room had spun around to stare at the house elf in the corner when he started talking, and watched as he talked and stepped out of the shadows.

"Oh, yes, Master was going to kill the Dark Lord, but the Dark Lord was tricksy, so, so tricksy. After Master took out the real one, and put in the fake one with a curse just for Voldey-Voldey, something happened, and Master touched the water." Kreacher's voice turned even more hateful and filled with sorrow "The Dark Lord had made a trap, and Kreacher wasn't fast enough to save Master. But Master, oh, he gave Kreacher instructions, did Master, and Kreacher carried them out. First, Kreacher sent the locket far, far away, to the lands where no one goes, with a letter saying it was a gift to the Priest-King, just like Master said to. Then Kreacher stuck the crazy painting to the wall, in case the traitor ever got out."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were staring at the elf with open mouths, too stunned to even ask questions, and Kreacher kept on talking.  
"Kreacher also got revenge on the traitor, for Master. Hah! Traitor kicked Kreacher, saying Kreacher was useless, but Kreacher had his orders, Kreacher did. But now you found the fake locket, and you are trying to kill the Dark Lord Voldey-Voldey, so I can help you, yes, Kreacher can."

Kreacher stepped further into the light and smiled a small twisted and sick little smirk. "First, Kreacher will tell Voldey-Voldey where the locket was sent, and he will run there. Hah! A trap even bigger than the curse on the fake locket that Master made, yessssss... Then Harry Potter will follow the Dark Lord, but he will be safe in the dangerous place, yes, he will, and the Dark Lord will die, yes, he will. Harry Potter will be safe, he and whoever he takes, even if he was the traitor's godson. Master was wise, Master was smart, Master was, oh yesssss. Do you want to know where Dark Lord Voldey will go, Harry Potter?"

Harry stared for a moment as he felt his brain start working again, then he blurted "Yes! Where?!" Kreacher's little smirk became even more sinister as he stepped forward and whispered, "The last hidden land of the priests of the Azteca, that's where Kreacher sent the locket, oh yes, just like Master said to!" Kreacher slowly stepped back and started giggling, a sight that so disturbed the three that they left the room as fast as they could.

-Months later-

Few people looked twice at the trio of teens as they headed past Customs in the Austin International Airport, even though two of them were in a constant and irritating low level argument, while the third watched and spent his time rolling his eyes.

Two days later, when they crossed the border into Mexico at the Laredo border crossing, they were barely glanced at, peoples eyes skipping over them, with the argument still ongoing, while the third teen was no longer rolling his eyes, but looking almost ready to murder the other two.

Three days of bus trips and motels later, and two very quiet and chastened teens followed the third, who wore an almost blissful expression of peace as they walked around a small village, trying to find a certain cantina. After finally finding it, the black haired teen asked the girl to his left "Is this it?"

The girl answered "Yes, Harry, this should be it. It has the correct symbol painted above the door, just like the book said."

Harry turned to the red-head on his right, and said "Okay, you are going to stay close to me and Hermione. If the book was right, they kill foreign wizards here. I'm really hoping Kreacher was right, and that they won't kill us."

The red-head just nodded and looked at Harry sideways. Harry rolled his eyes and said, "Ok Ron, fine, you can speak again. But if either of you start arguing again, what happened back there is going look like Christmas time compared to what I will do. Okay?"

Ron nodded, and said quietly " Right, mate. Just, don't go mental again, please?"

Harry replied with a hum, and walked into the weathered old building, the other two stepping quickly to walk close alongside him.


	2. Cwn Annwn

It was just before the summer holidays, and the Great Hall had a festive atmosphere, full of children laughing and chattering away. The staff up at their table looked out and remembered the year. And almost until the end, the dinner time was good.

Then the music started to whisper through the air, a light tinkling sound that swayed between giggling happiness and a gloomy, mournful sadness. Slowly the students began to notice and look around for the source of the music, and the members of the staff began to look around nervously. Slowly, a single flute joined in the tinkling, its airy notes dancing in and around the little bells and plinking strings.

Up at the high table, the staff turned to stare at a rapidly paling Dumbledore when he began muttering to himself and looking around in fright.

As the music got louder, and more and more mournful, the great carved oaken doors to the Great Hall began to groan as they oh-so-slowly swung open. Just before they were fully open, Peeves flew in through the doors, moving incredibly speedily, and was at the high table in moments. The poltergeist came to a dead halt before the headmaster, cocked his head, and shrieked "THEY'RE HERE! LET THE FUN BEGIN!" before beginning to walk in circles around the stunned headmaster.

A few circles in and he began to sing so the whole hall could hear, in an annoying high pitched chant, "Silly foolish Dumbledore, broke an old and ancient law... Now they themselves come here, at your heart they wish to peer... Because you're an old rotter, for those things you've done to Potter... But they come because they never forget, and maybe you'll become a funny pet..."

Peeves halted, looked at the open doors, and shrieked again "THEY'RE HERE!" before zooming out the side of the Hall.

Through the doors barking howls could be heard, loud yet distant, growing quieter even as they grew nearer. Then the quiet clicks of many boot heels striking the stone floor was heard just before a group walked through the now wide open doors. Not a one of the group was of average height – some were short, some tall, but they all strode with an aristocratic elegance, almost seeming to float over the floor. Around them all twined great white dogs, with red ears, moving backwards, forwards, around, and even between the legs of the moving people, yet never tripping them.

They strode up the gap between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, and spread out before the high table. They stopped, to stand absolutely still, and gaze at Dumbledore, who was now trembling and utterly speechless.

From the in between them one form limped out, moving without the elegance of the beautiful beings that surrounded it. It limped forward, and most of the hall could see that it was twisted and misshapen, hunchbacked and ugly. It stopped just short of the high table and waited. Suddenly, from behind it a quiet sussurating speech rustled from the group and the being grinned and started talking, in an oddly melodious voice that did not match his form at all. "Greetings, Dumbledore. Let me introduce myself. You may call me Caliban." Gasps from several people in the hall echoed clearly, and the being turned and leered a disturbing grin at some of them, before continuing. "Now, from this point on, I will be not be speaking my own words, but the words of my liege lord." Caliban turned and bent his grotesque body in a bow to the group behind him.

The sibilant words grew louder and sharper, and Caliban spoke. "Well, old Bumblebee. It took us a great deal of time, but I managed to find you, and that which you hid from us. Now, Bumblebee, I must ask, why did you do this thing? You knew what he was, yet you bound him in wards of blood and iron, and you marked it in his very flesh... Now, give us your answer, and pray that we do not strike you down."


	3. The Coldness

Harry walked towards the stool with the hat on it, feeling the coldness settle over him. He watched the stern old professor pick up the hat from the refuge of the coldness. He sat and the hat was put on his head, almost covering his eyes.  
.

Then Harry felt something join him in the coldness, and voice spoke in his head. _"Why, hello there Harry Potter. Oh, it's been a long long time since I've seen one such as you."_

Harry blinked and thought at the voice, _"Why are you in my head? How did you get past the coldness?"_

The Hat seemed to almost laugh, and replied _"Why, Master Potter, I must sort you, of course... And to sort you, I see all of you, from the deepest depths to the soaring heights of your soul. But you, Master Potter, I will have a hard time sorting."_

Harry grimaced, and asked back _"And why is that, Mr Hat? I'm just a boy, like all the others!"_

Again the amusement blossomed within his mind, and the Hat responded, almost laughing _"Now, now, Master Potter, we both know that isn't true at all, is it? And trying to seem innocent by calling me Mr Hat? Well, I will give you points for trying. But now, to the far more pressing question – to which House shall you go, Master Potter?"_

 _._

 _"Shall it be Hufflepuff, Master Potter? Or perhaps Ravenclaw? Slytherin, maybe? Gryffindor? Tell me, Master Potter, what do you think your sorting should be, and no holding back now, for I know what you are..."_  
Harry would have gulped if not for the coldness that was settled over him, keeping his body sitting straight backed and almost stone faced on the stool as time ticked by, and the hall looked on. _"Not hold back at all? Are you sure, 'Mr' Hat? Do you really want MY opinion?"_

 _._

 _"But of course, Master Potter! For one such as you, it has to be this way! How else could you be sorted?"_ The Hat shifted on Harry's head, and continued, _"First, let us talk about the Sorting, Master Potter. Ignore the idiotic song I sang, ignore everything you heard on the way here. Then follow my voice past what you call 'the coldness', and look into me, and see where you could go, and why, and then Master Potter, you must choose. That, Master Potter, will be your sorting... And a grand sorting it will be, such a sorting as hasn't happened in centuries!"_

.

Harry froze and carefully asked _"I have to go beyond the coldness? Into your mind? No! That can't be a good idea! I don't want to!"_  
The Hat calmly answered _"Why? I can't harm you, and I can't tell anybody of what happens here. I will forget all of the details after I am taken off you head. What can it hurt? Or shall we simply sit here for the rest of the night, as the others watch? Well, Master Potter? Shall we get on with it?"_

Harry thought back _"I have to do this don't I? It's the only way I'll get sorted, and everybody will stop staring? …..Then let's do it now..."_

.

The Hat's presence in Harry's mind slowly seemed to expand, as the Hat whispered _"Do you feel that, Master Potter? Close your eyes, and follow it, as it moves away. Don't stop, and keep following until I say not to. Now, let us begin, Master Potter! Your Sorting awaits!"_  
Slowly, the Hat's presence seemed to back away, and Harry 'pushed' his mind after it, and for a second, he felt like he was tasting colours, and hearing smells. Then he came up against the coldness, and hesitated for a split second, before rushing after the Hat's presence. Going through the coldness felt strange, in a way Harry knew he would never be able to describe, and then Harry was within the Hat's mind, if it could be called that. Everything was different, and there seemed to be four parts, all connect to a fifth, in which Harry lingered.

.

Suddenly, the Hat's 'voice' seemed to surround him, in a comforting thunder, _"So Master Potter. Look at the houses, and the possibilities, and make your choice! Let your Sorting begin!"_  
Harry looked at the first of the possibilities, and he felt it, and saw the yearning for knowledge, the fascination with the connections between various pieces of that knowledge, and the urge to investigate things and see just _why_ things happened. For what seemed like mere moments, Harry saw what that could make him, the good or the bad, and he looked away, and he knew that the House of Ravenclaw was almost definitely not for him.

.

Harry looked at another, and felt the boundless patience, the calm acceptance to chip away at a mountain forever if need be, the undying loyalty that once given would never be broken, and Harry's breath held for a moment, and he asked the Hat _"Tell me more about this one, please?"_ and was annoyed when the Hat replied _"Not until you have looked at them all."_

So, Harry promised himself that he would look at it again, and moved onto the next.

.

The first thing that struck Harry about this one was the drive to excel. The core of burning ambition that fuelled everything else about the House of Slytherin. The willingness to burn bridges, to lose friends, to dirty themselves if need be, to _achieve_ something. The wish to be great, forever - for Harry, the wish to hold power, to never ever be subjugated again, and even more than the Hufflepuff, it took his breath away. Harry could barely move on to the next, he was so fascinated with Slytherin's House.

.

Last, he saw the fourth House, and the iron rod of courage, wrapped with a will to do what was _right_ , no matter the cost. He saw the want to challenge things, to stand up and fight, to carry the banner forward into battle. He saw himself standing against the world, on a dare, just because he could. He looked deeper into the Hat's vision of Gryffindor's House, and he stared for what seemed like ages, entranced at the possibilities that were offered by the House of Gryffindor.

.

 _"So, Master Potter! What do you think? Aren't you grateful I told you to wait until you saw them all? Besides, why would I have to tell you anything at all? It was all right there..."_

Harry sighed, and replied _"I could like it in Hufflepuff's House, couldn't I? It would be great. I'd have friends for life, wouldn't I? It would be brilliant..."_

The amusement from the Hat grew, and it said _"Yes, it would be. You would like it. Love it, even. But you already know the answer to 'Do I want to go into Hufflepuff?', don't you?"_  
Harry grimaced, _"Yeah, I guess so. Okay, so neither Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. Now what? I don't know how to choose between the next two."_

.

The Hat went silent for a moment, before becoming very serious. _"Slytherin could make you great, you know. You'd be envied, looked up to, by the world. You'd become strong and powerful. You'd never again sleep in a cupboard with only the spiders to keep you company. I see you, Master Potter, and I know you want it. You want it so badly I can almost taste it."_

 _"Or, you could go to Gryffindor, and follow the other part of you heart. You want to be like those story book heroes. You want to be good and just and strong in another way, not the strength that you'd learn in Slytherin. But now Master Potter, you must choose, for now, you are the only one that can place you..."_

.

The indecision was almost painful, and Harry turned from one option to the other time and time again, looking into the depths of each choice. Then Harry had a thought and turned back to the Hat. Harry asked plaintively _"Do I have to be in one or the other? Can't I somehow be both?"_

The Hat laughed delightedly _"Why Master Potter! Well done! Well done indeed! Now that you have asked that question, let me ask you one! Why can't you be both, even if you are sorted to one or the other?"_  
Harry distantly felt his eyes open, blink, and then shut again, as he concentrated on the Hat's 'mind'. _"But, but... Why even sort us then? I mean, if we can be any of them, why sort us?"_

The Hat's delight seemed to grow, and it answered _"Now you have asked the question, I can answer. Let me show you something..."_

.

For a moment, Harry was puzzled, and then the Hat flooded his mind with feelings and Harry _knew_ about the Houses, and how not even one in a ten ever became more than an average student, focussed on the areas that their house was known for. How every house suffered from their own stereotypes, Ravenclaw thinking only of grades and tests and exams, Hufflepuff playing at games of loyalty never looking at what they should work hard at, Slytherin dominated by those who imagined themselves ambitious, and Gryffindor thinking petty stupidity was bravery and daring.

.

Harry reeled at the assault of knowledge and emotion, and sighed. _"Fine. I get it now. But why only me? Why not any of the others? I'm only eleven!"_

 _"Why Master Potter, surely you can figure it out? You have 'the coldness', and soon you'll learn more, and understand better. Why, I'll tell you what, Master Potter – when you realise just why it's only you, just call, and you can wear me again, and we shall talk again! Now, Master Potter, let us return to your mind, shall we?"_

.

The Hat again led the way, and Harry returned to within the coldness, and felt his own relief after the second of oddness of getting used to being in his own head again. _"So, Master Potter! Where shall it be?"_

 _"Well 'Mr Hat', if I go to Slytherin, I'll have to deal with that boy from the train that reminded me of Dudley, right? And I already know Neville in Gryffindor, we met on the train. So Gryffindor, I guess. I can't change my mind after this can I, 'Mr Hat'?"_

The Hat felt amused and laughed in Harry's head, which felt very odd, and said _"No Master Potter, there'll be no going back, so... Let's do this, shall we? So for you, Master Potter, I sort you to..._ Gryffindor!"

.

Harry almost jumped at the loud shout from the Hat, and felt it plucked from his head. For half a second there was silence, and then one of the tables erupted in noise, cheering, and screaming. Harry walked to the table and sat to down, trying not to shy away from the many people slapping him on the back and shouting to him. It was nearly overwhelming, even with the insulation of the coldness.

.

.

When the table had settled down and rest of the sorting was done, the food finally finished and everybody escorted to their new dormitories, Harry lay in his bed and thought how much things had changed since the first letter had come. Slowly, he drifted off to sleep, to dream dreams of power, bravery and magic...


	4. Theron Salazar and Godric's Lie

I am mostly putting this here for easier reference for me. This was a little brainfart that I had, then typed it out in a few seconds and promptly forgot about. Now, I run across it every so often and wonder if i will ever add more to it at all.  
I will admit that I had most of this idea when I saw a russian orthodox priest in full vestments - they are rather impressive and speak to a different time. Everything else just sprang up about that central scene of 'Sly Theron Salazar' (Salazar Slytherin) crushing a gangster and straightening the dead priest's robes. Anyway, enough blather.

* * *

The small church on the nearly forgotten lane off a nearly unused street was old, very old. It had been rebuilt four times according to the old man who took care of it. He said that the last time had been when the Czar still ruled Kiev. The communists had left this church alone, never going near it, and the old man said that he had inherited the position of caretaker from his uncle, and that the position had been in the family for centuries. But then, the old man was getting on in years, and liked to natter at any of the young who would listen. Some would listen to humor the old man, who seemed so utterly harmless, and obviously wasn't much longer for this world. Indeed, some even took to coming to check up on him as he grew older.  
So, it was a sad day that three young men found him sprawled on the floor of the church, the back of his head caved in due to a fall from a ladder. Most of the blood had seeped down in between the cracks of the stones that made the floor, but the young men didn't notice this as they notified the priest, then arranged for him to be moved to his last resting place before the grave. It was a small but sad funeral as the few who knew him laid out their flowers and remembered the cheerful, wise man with no family.

With no one more to look after the church, it was soon deconsecrated, and sold. Soon the area came to the attention of a developer, who saw potential, and began buying land in the area. The last parcel of land was the church, and when he had that, construction began. The foundations were to be dug in deep, and would take three weeks to dig. The digging went on for three days, before the great vault under where the church had stood was discovered. Each stone was carved with latin, greek, russian and other languages, carved crosses and other signs and symbols, and the workers stood uneasy in its presence. First, people wished to call in archeologists and historians, but the owner had a great deal of money invested in his project, and wished to make more. Several bribes later, and no official notice was taken of the vault; the owner ordered his men to demolish it and continue with the work. Many of the workers were uneasy, and the owner called in others to work the equipment to destroy it. But, the destruction did not happen three priests showed up to examine the vault, and two stood in the path of the machines as the third took pictures of all that was written on the many blocks of stone that made up the vault.

Even the specially hired workers hesitated to attack the priests as they stood their in their full vestments and loudly condemned any who would disturb it. However, this did not last forever, and the owner was growing impatient. He talked to a cousin, who knew some people of the rougher sort, and the next day as the priests stood there, the rough ones went to work. The workers stood to the side, appalled, as the three priests were attacked with pipes. Then it got out of hand when one of the younger criminals, nearly out of his mind on drugs and vodka swung his pipe at a priest on his knees as he begged to be be let go. The pipe swung a perfect arc and hit the priests head, and it split his skull. All saw the spray of blood, and most saw it hit the wall of stone, right on top of another blood stain, where the last blood of the old caretaker had dripped to almost a year before. Almost imperceptibly, the blood sank into the stone, spreading out along the deeply carved symbols as it did.

As the blood spread, at times seeming to defy gravity to follow the curves, everybody on the work site had frozen at the sight of the dead young priest with his head crushed down one side and his vestments covered in blood laying on the ground. In the crowd of workers, many crossed themselves, and a few picked up their hammers and shovels. Seeing this, some of the wiser of the hired thugs began to back away, almost running. However, the one with the bloody pipe which had already taken one life that day, just turned and screamed imprecations at the crowd. As he screamed he grabbed another of the priests and pulled him forward and raised his pipe high, clearly intending to crush his head as all the workers watched.

As he stood there, just about to swing the pipe down, a voice began to be heard. It started as an eerie moan, but slowly grew into an awful shriek that drove everyone to knees. All that is, except for the thug with the pipe who turned to the vault and stared, slack-jawed. Slowly he began to stagger his way towards the vault, dropping his pipe and holding his arms up before him. He dropped to his knees a pace before the wall, and placed his palms upon it, and stared, entranced. Suddenly a hand seemed to grow from the stone and grasp the thug's throat, and rip it from his neck. The gangster's mouth flapped as he spurted blood from the gaping hole in his neck and tried to bring his hands back to grasp his throat, but they were stuck to the stone so securely that they didn't even budge.

The hand grew out of the stone further, going past a shoulder, and a body seemed to struggle through the stone as above it a vague shape gave form to an angry face. Slowly the person in the stone pushed through, and stepped over the dead punk lying on ground before the wall. Just before he stepped completely from the stone, the last of the stone slipped from his features, flowing back to the rest of the wall. The man who stood there was not particularly tall, nor exceedingly muscled, but danger and menace seemed to roll off him in waves as he knelt and picked up the dead body by the head. Slowly he adjusted his grip to hold the dead man's head to face him, a hand each side with his thumbs just touching the edge of the blank, empty eyes. He stared deep into the eyes of the dead man, and breathed words into the slack mouth and then laughed as the body jerk as though someone had attached a live wire to it. He laughed as he moved his hands away and laughed as the dead man knelt before him on one knee and held his clasped hands above his down turned head. He laughed louder as people began fleeing and whispered to himself in a singsong as he waved his hands before the kneeling dead man, who began to burn. He waved his hand and the body spasmed and it's back arched, looking to be screaming, but no sound came from it's missing throat. The mage laughed long and hard as he watched the dead man burn, before turning to the dead priest and carefully straightening his body, laying his hands one on top of the other, and gently pulling his vestments into order. He turned and looked at the two other priests laying near insensate and badly beaten. He walked over and rested a hand on the forehead of each. He spoke in a slow solemn voice, and his eyes began to glow with terrible light, and the injuries began to heal rapidly.

After a few moments, he raised his hands from the two priests, turned and walked away. One of the priests, by now mostly lucid, called out "Wait! Wait! What are you? Who are you?" The main stopped and turned to the priest and grinned. "Me? I am one who was bound but is now free. I am one who was betrayed and wishes for justice. One who was decieved and imprisoned, and now, I can call for vengeance. Now, priest, I am what I should have been all those years ago, before they entombed me..." The priest watched as he turned around twice and then shook his head, grinned, turned once more and vanished.


	5. Who didn't like the 1400s, after all!

If it was a real ministry, then what if it acted like a real ministry? On the other hand, the judicial procedures seem so very antiquated, so what if it was a real ministry and stuck in the 1400s, simply because there was no need to change?  
First off, the minister advising the prime minister of anything would be courtesy, while he would be really responsible to the crown. Secondly, the aurors anomalous status as both fighters and law officers would be explained.  
Of course, then the interesting question regarding Voldie's war would be "What if it was dealt with by the same organizational methods of war that were used in the 1400s?"  
Well, for one thing, the muggleborn would be in for a shock...

* * *

Fudge was nervous. He sat and fidgeted with his green bowler hat as he waited for his audience with the Crown. For months he had been denying that Vold... You-Know-Who had been back, but now he had seen it with his own eyes, and he had to advise the sovereign that they were in a state of war against a psychopathic rebel, traitor, and oathbreaker.

He had managed to put this off until after Hogwarts sent everyone home for the summer, but then there were no more ways to put it off, and here he sat.

When the footman came and escorted him in to his emergency audience, he was almost glad that the waiting was over. When he came out of the audience, all of that gladness was gone, washed away by stunned horror as he tried to comprehend what was happening.

=oooo=

Bill Weasley was visiting home and talking with his mother when his father came home looking stunned, and carrying a large rolled up broadsheet. When Arthur collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table, Bill went over and asked, "Dad? What's wrong?".

When Arthur let the broadsheet unroll, Bill understood all too well. The large printed words COMMISSION OF ARRAY stood out from the smaller print around it, and Bill let "Oh shit" slip out with out even realizing he had said it.

=0000=

The Drs Granger came home from work at the surgery, to find their daughter standing in the dining room look at a printed sheet with a look of intense puzzlement on her face, as if she could not believe was she was reading, something that they were not all used to. "Hermione? What's the matter?" Hermione jumped, and looked up. "Mummy! Daddy! I didn't hear you come in!"

The two dentists looked at each other, and the Hermione's father said "We just stepped in. What's that you have there?"

Hermione looked at the paper in her hands, and then looked back at her parents. "Daddy, would you know what a commission of array is? This is addressed to me, saying that I am summoned to 40 days of service, by the commissioners for this shire. What on earth does that mean?"

* * *

And so on, etc, etc, etc.

Background info – in the 1400s, the feudal system was beginning to break down in england as they needed an army a great deal of the time, and the regular feudal methods of supplying armies could not always keep up with the demand for people, supplies, and money. So they instituted the Commission of Array system, which is sort of like a feudal conscription system. Each area was expected to be able to supply so many men-at-arms, bowmen, horses, supplies, etc, with pay for so-many days at the request of the crown. After the days ran out, the crown had to shell out directly to keep them in the field, but each are had to supply reinforcements as needed. Also, the age to go to war was lower in those times. Add that to the fact that it's wizards, and so physical strength is not really necessary, well, I imagine 15 year olds would be expected to appear, even if only as support.


End file.
